


Day 3: Blood Loss

by GemmaRose



Series: VLD Whump Week [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Gen, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Voltron: Legendary Defender, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: In Which Zarkon Is Injured And Alfor Refuses To Give Up On His Friend.





	Day 3: Blood Loss

“Quiznack.” Alfor cursed under his breath, backing away from the collapsed ceiling. It was too thick a blockade to hear what was happening on the other side, or hope that yelling for help would be heard, and while he could certainly shift larger and try to dig a way out he didn’t like the look of the cave walls around the damaged area. Shifting the rock too much might only serve to bring more down on their heads. “We’re stuck.” he said grimly, turning to Zarkon.

“Karabast.” Zarkon swore, face pinching. “And we won’t be missed for another varga at least.”

“Plus another few vargas for them to dig us out.” Alfor nodded. Zarkon sighed heavily, and slid down the cave wall he’d been leaning against.

“At least we’re over here, not under there with the space pirates.” Zarkon said as Alfor sat down at his side, gesturing with his left hand and resting his right across his stomach.

“Thank the Ancients for small miracles.” Alfor agreed with a weary chuckle. He looked down at his armour, scorched and dented and even gouged in places, and sighed almost as deeply as his friend had. “Coran and Laura won’t be pleased to see this.” he mused, tracing the mark where a blaster bolt had caught him right over the heart.

“But they will be glad to see your armour took all the damage for you.” Zarkon said wryly. “Or nearly all.”

Alfor grimaced and pressed his fingers to the lower edge of his black eye. “It’s that visible already?”

“Yes.” Zarkon nodded, smiling slightly. “Your wife will be downright furious, and your advisor will do that thing with his face.”

“Don’t remind me.” Alfor groaned. Coran’s disappointed face was legendary, ever since he’d managed to shame Trigel and Blaytz into apologizing to each other after a particularly explosive argument early in the alliance. Alfor was _not_ looking forward to being on the receiving end of it again.

“Sometimes I wonder if Queen Laura would agree to take your place on missions, when you’re busy with your other duties.”

Alfor laughed, and winced as he was reminded of probably-damaged ribs. “Oh, Zarky. She’d have the lot of you answering to her in half a quintant, if that.”

Zarkon grimaced, the lights on Alfor’s armour combining with the sweat on his face to exaggerate the expression. “Right, that’s why you let her do diplomatic dealings while you’re with us.”

“Yeah.” Alfor leaned his head back against the cave wall with a wry smile. “Have I told you the story of how we met?”

“Several times.” Zarkon replied flatly. “And in varying levels of coherency.”

“You know...” Alfor said slowly, looking at Zarkon out of the corner of his eye. “Now that this alliance is stable, your political situation is stable enough to start looking for a mate.”

Zarkon laughed, a short and disbelieving bark of a thing that echoed in their enclosure. “I’m glad my people seem so united to outside eyes, but there is much progress to be made before I can think of seeking a mate.”

“You’ve been saying that since we were children.” Alfor pointed out, elbowing his friend in the side. Zarkon let out a sharp hiss of pain, and Alfor sat up straighter. “Are you okay?” he asked, and Zarkon looked away.

“It’s nothing you should worry about.”

“Zarkon.” Alfor said sternly, narrowing his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s nothing.” Zarkon insisted, and Alfor rose to his knees.

“Let me see it.” he insisted, and after a moment of hesitation Zarkon lifted his arm away from where it had seemed to be resting across his stomach. The his palm and the wrist of his bracer were stained purple, shining wetly in the dim light provided by Alfor’s armour. Underneath, his protective bodysuit had been rent open in three parallel lines, the flesh mangled and leaking dark blood out to soak the ruined fabric. Alfor sucked a breath in between his teeth, and Zarkon refused to meet his eyes.

“Zarky, please tell me this looks worse than it is.” Alfor said weakly. There was so much blood, it was trickling over Zarkon’s belt and greaves and slowly darkening the dusty rock beneath them. How much blood did galra have? How much of that could they afford to lose? He couldn’t remember the numbers, it had been ages since he needed to know them.

“I’m afraid it is that bad.” Zarkon admitted, not even protesting the use of his nickname. This was- this was really, _really_ bad. Damn it all, how had Alfor not noticed this earlier? He’d married a medic, his practical knowledge of medicine was unmatched among them.

“Okay, okay.” he said, standing and fumbling with the clasp by his shoulder. “This isn’t sanitary in the slightest, but it’s better than nothing.” he pulled off his cape, grabbed at an edge where blaster fire had clipped the fabric, and pulled. It tore in a neat line, and he shoved the remainder at Zarkon. “Make this into strips.” he said firmly, and shook out the wide strip in his hands before he began to fold it.

It took both his hands to hold the pad in place as Zarkon slowly shredded his cape into bandages, and Alfor watched the spreading puddle of purple just as intently as he watched his friend’s motions. When Zarkon’s hands started shaking, his breaths coming far shorter than they should when he was sitting down, Alfor shifted to hold the soaked-through pad in place with his forearm and reached out with his now-free hand to catch his friend’s wrist. “I think that’s enough bandages.” he said softly.

“Hmm?” Zarkon frowned at him, and Alfor pulled the remains of his cape from Zarkon’s hands easily.

“Put pressure on your wound.” he said firmly, guiding Zarkon’s hand to the injury. The bandage didn’t move when Alfor pulled his hand away, and he quickly tucked the pin which held his cap together inside his undersuit before folding the remainder into a fresh pad. “Lift your hand.” he ordered, and slipped the fresh fabric between Zarkon’s palm and the old, blood-soaked strip without bothering to remove the old one.

Once Zarkon was back to holding that in place, Alfor shuffled over and picked up the fabric strips from his lap. The ends knotted together easily enough, and he wished he had some kind of tape to hold the end in place so he could get a tight wrap. “Can you sit up?” he asked, placing a hand on Zarkon’s shoulder.

“Of course.” Zarkon muttered, sounding vaguely offended.

“Okay, I need you to sit up so you’re not leaning on the wall.” Alfor said, readying the end of the makeshift bandage. Zarkon pushed off the wall with his free hand, and swayed dangerously as Alfor leaned in to wrap the bandage around him. A slipknot wasn’t exactly the ideal way to fasten bandages, but it worked well enough. The first pass he slipped under Zarkon’s hand, tightening it against the middle of the fabric pad until his friend hissed in pain. The second pass secured the pad over the higher gouge, and the final time around went over the lower one.

Alfor sat back with a heavy exhale, and Zarkon fell back against the wall with a weak groan. “How long has it been?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Alfor shook his head, looking down at the puddle of blood. It had spread an alarming amount, now reaching easily to halfway down his shins. “But you’re going to be okay.”

“If I-”

“Hey.” Alfor said sharply, pressing on the bandage pad and making Zarkon hiss in pain instead of finishing his sentence. “You’re _going_ to be okay.” he repeated.

“You’re pretty certain of that, considering our circumstances.” Zarkon chuckled. It was an awful sound, ragged and forced, and Alfor’s heart wrenched in his chest.

“I’m certain that I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen.” he said firmly, keeping pressure on the bandage. “Your people need you to lead them.” he opened his mouth to say more, then shut it again. Zarkon couldn’t argue about his own empire, but he’d sure as hell try to argue about his value in their little alliance team.

“That is true.” Zarkon agreed, and Alfor sighed softly. “But still-”

“We’re not talking about that.” Alfor insisted. “I’m not letting you die.”

“But if I do.” Zarkon said firmly, purple-gold eyes boring into Alfor’s own blue ones. “It was not your fault. Nor was it the fault of any of the others.”

“Well that’s a moot point, because you’re not dying.” Alfor said stubbornly. They fell back into silence after that, and Alfor took to looking between Zarkon and the shadowed cave-in which blocked them off from the outside world. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and began to mouth the words of a prayer. With any luck, Lyn’carlith would hear him and let Zarkon survive this.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyn’carlith is my headcanon altean god of death and travelers.


End file.
